


Call Me In the Morning

by fanficology



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Jollock - Freeform, M/M, Misunderstandings, Morning After, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficology/pseuds/fanficology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the threesome first have sex and Molly panics in the morning.  Jollock origin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me In the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the wonderful the-keeper-of-the-keys.

Molly panicked the morning after she slept with John and Sherlock. She wasn’t proud of her reaction, Molly had always considered herself more worldly, but apparently she was nothing of the sort.

 

When she and Sherlock had met John at 221B the night before to reveal Sherlock’s continuing existence, Molly had no idea that John would grab Sherlock by his scarf and kiss him. The punch that preceded the kiss she had expected. The kiss? Not so much. Molly also didn’t expect that John would stop her from slipping out the front door. She had no desire to intrude on their reunion, which had somehow managed to be heart warming and heart breaking at the same time. Leaving seemed like the right idea at the time. Surely they would want some privacy?

 

So, Molly didn’t expect the hand on her wrist stopping her from leaving. She didn’t expect that the hug Sherlock and John wrapped her in at that moment would lead to idle stroking of skin. That the idle stroking would gain purpose and that she would be caught up in the maddening desire to remove all the clothing she touched and have all of her clothing removed. 

 

She didn’t expect she would hook one leg up around John’s waist to bring his naked body closer to her as Sherlock rutted against her backside while his hands gripped John’s arse.

 

Or that she would be sobbing with pleasure as she knelt over John’s face watching Sherlock give the slowest and most sensual oral sex she had ever witnessed.

 

Or that after Sherlock took John apart he would turn to her to for his pleasure. 

 

Or that as she and Sherlock moved together, John would look at her as if she was the most precious thing in the world, caressing her breasts and kissing her gently, only occasionally ceasing his ministrations to give Sherlock desperate kisses, as if he was reassuring himself of his presence. 

 

Or that John to carry her to bed and that he and Sherlock would curl around each other and fall asleep.

 

She had to admit, she did expect that John and Sherlock would thank her for her part but she didn’t expect they would say it in the midst of intimacy. Which they did. Repeatedly.

 

The thank yous were the reason when she woke up the next morning in Sherlock’s bed after seeing Sherlock and John still entwined that she panicked. It became clear to her that they slept with her out of gratitude for reuniting each other. 

 

Molly was mortified. 

 

She berated herself for staying. She should’ve insisted that she go home and leave them to their reunion. The idea of the morning after conversation where they explained themselves to her made her nearly physically ill. Not just out of embarrassment but out of heartbreak. Perhaps, just perhaps, if she left quickly and pretended that it never happened she could maintain a friendship with them. Yes. She would leave before they broke her heart and that way she could cherish the memory of their night together without any stain. Maybe she would even be their surrogate if they decided they wanted children one day. 

 

Molly covered her mouth to stifle the hysterical laughter. She had to get out of there before she woke them up. With that she slipped out of bed and tiptoed out of the open doorway, trying to ignore the feeling of dried semen on her thighs. She put herself in order quickly, hoping her appearance didn’t scream walk of shame, and left Baker Street.

 

Besides the quick stop at the chemist to pick up Plan B, she felt confident she made it home sans judgment. The day was looking up.

 

______________________________________________________________________________________ 

 

A couple hours later Molly was lying in bed wondering if she had just made a deal with the devil in the innocuous form of Plan B. She got something she wanted: no unwanted pregnancy, and it got something it wanted: her curled up on her bed in a tiny ball and miserable.

 

It was probably karma, she thought. She rolled over onto her stomach, her knees still underneath her, attempting to alleviate the pain. She was blessed with an easy, if erratic, period. She very rarely had debilitating cramps and only localized acne. It would be her luck that the morning after pill would knock her on her arse.

 

She no longer felt bad about calling in sick that morning.

 

It was cowardice on her part to call in sick. Molly didn’t want to be in the mortuary and risk Sherlock and John coming in. She just wanted to go to ground like a wounded animal until she could put yesterday behind her with a modicum of grace.

 

Her phone’s obnoxious ringer cut through the air. She just nearly avoided upsetting her mixing bowl cum emesis basin when she lunged to grab the phone.

 

“’Lo,” Molly croaked into the phone.

 

“Molly?” A voice whispered. It was a fellow pathologist, Dr. Singh.

 

Molly hummed in assent. Her throat was still raw from vomiting.

 

“You need to come in.”

 

Like hell. “Give me one good reason I should drag myself from my bed.”

 

“That nutty dead detective is back! Remember, I promised to take all the kids’ bodies that came in if you assisted him. I hate that bloke. Anyway, he’s looking for you, you’ve got to come in.” 

 

Molly sighed. She did dislike doing children’s post mortems. She would do them but they always put her in a horrible mood so she tried to avoid them as much as possible. Once Sherlock Holmes invaded St. Bartholomew’s and made it clear he was not leaving Molly struck a deal that she would take care of Sherlock, even coming in when she was off if she could, if Singh took the majority of the children. Since Sherlock’s death the amount of children post mortems she had to conduct slowly increased, as she was no longer able to keep up her side of the bargain. “Mohan, I’m sick. No way in hell am I leaving my bed right now. You’re going to have make do.”

 

Mohan’s whispers grew more furious. “He threw a fit when he found out you weren’t here. He said you were faking and demanded we call you.”

 

Molly let out a hoarse bark of laughter. “Sherlock Holmes does not know everything and I am most certainly incapable of working today. Again, you’re going to have to deal. Just give him what he wants, within reason and stay out of his way. You’ll be fine.”

 

“You owe me.”

 

“I definitely do not. Bye.” Molly felt equal parts empowered and guilty at not coming to help. Sherlock had told her repeatedly in the past that she was allowed to say no to people (though he implied that he was not ‘people’ and therefore didn’t count.) She finally took his advice.

 

Molly stumbled out of bed to the kitchen to refill her hot water bottle (and empty her pungent mixing bowl). She opened up her computer and did a quick search on whether it was safe to take paracetomal with the morning after pill. Molly seriously considered kissing her computer when she saw the answer. Three pills, a hot water bottle later, and a clean mixing bowl later; Molly cocooned herself back up in bed.

 

She floated happily in the grey hazy area that marked the border between the world of living and that of dreams. The pain medicine and hot water bottle were working their magic and her nausea was starting to slowly subside. Molly had high hopes for actually being able to eat something for dinner. 

 

The sky was resplendent with the wild streaks of gold, red, and pink of the setting sun when Molly felt someone repeatedly run their fingers through her hair. The pathologist nuzzled against the hand on instinct. It was soothing, the hair stroking. Reminded her vaguely of her mother doing the same when she was ill.

 

Alarm bells went off in her head when she realized, since Sherlock had left, nobody else should be in her flat besides Toby. She woke with a jerk and a gasp.

 

Sherlock was sitting next to her on the bed. He combed her hair up from her scalp, examined it before letting it slip through his fingers on to the pillow.

 

Molly blinked at him.

 

“You haven’t washed your hair in nearly two days,” Sherlock said as he slid his fingers through her tresses.

 

“Meant to do it this morning but um, I didn’t.” No need to elaborate that the reason she didn’t was because she woke up at Baker Street and by the time she got home she just wanted a good cry in her bed.

 

“You’ve been crying.”

 

“I cry when I vomit,” Molly defended. It wasn’t the main reason she was crying but it was true. For some reason whenever she vomited, she cried. She couldn’t help it, just like she couldn’t help opening her mouth when she applied mascara. 

 

Sherlock looked down at her face for the first time. He shifted so he was on his side next to her. “Why?”

 

“Haven’t the foggiest.”

 

He hummed in acknowledgement. “I should go see what is taking John so long.”

 

Molly blinked at him. “Sorry, what? Jo-John’s here too?”

 

Sherlock gave her a look like she just asked him the most idiotic question in the world. “Of course he is.” He rolled over to get out of bed when Molly grabbed him by the arm.

 

“Sherlock, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be solving a case or-or spending time with John?”

 

“I am spending time with John. We’re here together. Ergo: I am spending time with him.”

 

Lord, for someone so brilliant he could be unimaginably dense. “I meant time alone. Build your relationship and stuff.” She wasn’t surprised that Sherlock needed relationship advice but she was a little surprised that she was going to be supplying it.

 

Sherlock sighed. “I am.”

 

“You’re what?” John asked from where he was standing in the doorframe carrying a takeaway tray with a cardboard bowl and a glass on it.

 

“Building a relationship. I’m here aren’t I?”

 

John caught Molly’s attention and rolled his eyes at her. Molly gave him a weak grin. Her head swam as she tried to sit up. Dehydration, she thought. And not eating at all today isn’t helping either.

 

Sherlock grabbed her rather gently and hauled her into a sitting position against the headboard. Molly was a little surprised when he didn’t remove his arm from around her and instead pulled her to lean against his chest. She glanced at John, feeling a little anxious. She’d be annoyed if her boyfriend started feeling up someone else.

 

John didn’t seem to mind as he sat down on the other side of her, taking care not to upset his tray. Molly felt a rush of saliva to her parched mouth when she took in the aroma of chicken soup. It was exactly what the doctor ordered. Molly’s mouth quirked at her little joke as she snuck a glance at John.

 

“Heard you were sick, so we brought you some soup,” John said as he thwacked down the little legs and placed the tray on her lap. That-that was not something she owned. Though now she wished she did.

 

“You-you don’t need to do this, I can take care of myself. I mean, thank you but this is unnecessary. I promise.” Molly was well aware that she had started to babble but she just couldn’t stop it.

 

John gave her a fond expression before gently pinching the skin of the back of her hand. Molly kept her eyes on the skin, watching it very slowly rebound. “Eat up and drink up. You are definitely dehydrated.”

 

Molly dutifully took a sip of her water. She ate slowly, feeling self-conscious as Sherlock stretched an arm behind her shoulders to place his hand on John’s shoulder. The doctor reached up to thread his fingers with Sherlock’s. Molly decided to focus on the soup and not the two men next to her in order to help still her shaking hand. It was okay soup. The broth wasn’t as robust as she liked hers to be and it was a bit bland. Serviceable but nothing fantastic.

 

John quickly took the tray away from her the moment she finished her water and soup to set it on the floor next to her bed. “Feeling better?”

 

Molly nodded tentatively. Her stomach was still churning but she was pretty sure that was due to nerves rather than a side effect of the pill. She could feel the liquid sloshing around; it was disconcerting. But the cramps and abdominal pain had receded along with the headache. All and all a far sight better than she was a couple hours ago. 

 

Molly recoiled back against Sherlock as John reached for her neck. “What are you doing?”

 

“I’m feeling your lymph nodes,” John said. “I want to see if they’re swollen.”

 

“Oh. No need to feel them,” Molly stammered. “This is just a side effect of some medicine, I don’t have a virus or um anything.”

 

Molly always thought it was discomforting to be on the end of Sherlock’s gaze. Now, she realized John’s was just as effective. “And what medicine is that?”

 

“It’s not any of your business,” Molly snapped. And it wasn’t. If it were anyone’s business besides Molly, it would be Sherlock’s considering he was the one who didn’t use protection. Though to be fair, neither did she.

 

John actually looked a bit hurt at her reply. Molly felt a small stab of guilt. “It was just a one time thing. I should be fine tomorrow,” she muttered.

 

“You left before we woke up,” Sherlock stated, sounding quite annoyed.

 

Molly stiffened. So much for avoiding the talk. “I didn’t think you wanted me to be there.”

 

Sherlock’s arm tightened around her to almost painful levels as John scrunched his brow in confusion. “Not want you,” John repeated slowly.

 

Molly looked down at her hands, uncomfortable at the scrutiny. She wasn’t very good at being the center of attention. “I had intruded enough in your reunion so, so I left. Thought it would be the best to just slip out and forget it happened.”

 

“You want to forget last night.” It was a statement from Sherlock, not a question.

 

The brown haired woman had no reply to that. Last night was amazing. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so safe and loved. Not to mention that both Sherlock and John were quite talented and left her so boneless with satisfaction that she thought she would never be able to move again. On the other hand, she was worried that if she didn’t forget it, she would turn into a bitter woman who was in love with two men who didn’t love her. If she pretended it never happened maybe she could move on to someone who loved or at least wanted her also.

 

“Wo-wouldn’t that be best for everyone? I-I’d think that if we pretended it never happened that’d be, um, good. You two would go on being, well, you two and I would find someone. Eventually.” Molly glanced back at Sherlock before looking at John. Both of their faces were devoid of expression. “Apparently I’m wrong?”

 

“Right. I think we need to clarify a few things. First, we were both very disappointed that you buggered off without saying goodbye. Secondly, last night is something we most definitely do not want to forget. Lastly,” John moved towards her until he was hovering just above her lips. Molly closed her eyes on reflex. His lips brushed hers as he continued, “wewould greatly appreciate if you didn’t find someone else.”

 

“I think you’ll find that we will be most sufficient,” Sherlock whispered in her ear. 

 

Molly was pretty sure her brain short-circuited once she figured out what they were implying. “Quick question,” Molly said slowly. Sherlock hummed as he kissed the top of her head. “You are implying a relationship and not just like me as some random fuck buddy for you two, right?”

 

Molly couldn’t see him but she was pretty sure Sherlock rolled his eyes based on his tone. “Yes, Molly, we’re implying a relationship. One where we take interest in each other’s day, spend time together-remember how I said I was building a relationship?-, solve cases, exchange dull words of sentiment, have horrid talks about ‘where this is going’ and feelings, and shag each other silly. I am most interested in the second, third, and last objectives.”

 

Molly wasn’t entirely sure what expression she had on her face but if John’s face was anything to judge by it was quite entertaining. “He paints quite a picture doesn’t he?”

 

“That’s one way to say it,” Molly commented.

 

Sherlock dropped his arm to her waist and rested his chin on her crown. John grabbed hold of Molly’s left hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. They stayed like that for a while until John spoke up, “Well, what do you say? Want to see if you want to be with a pain in the arse detective and his blogger?”

 

“If you say yes, you are not allowed to leave bed early without telling us. It’s annoying.” Sherlock tightened his grip on her waist.

 

Entering a relationship with not one but two men? It didn’t seem right. Forbidden almost. There was no way this could work. They’d realize she was nothing special and leave. But if it did work, if this was genuine, she couldn’t imagine being happier. She nodded her head in assent. “Okay.”

 

Despite the wrinkles that formed on his face, John looked years younger when he smiled. He kissed the back of hand before leaning in to capture her lips. The doctor pulled back and let out a small laugh before framing her face with his hands and kissing her deeply. “We’re going to be so happy. I promise.”

 

Molly ducked her head, feeling suddenly shy at the attention.

 

“You need to rest but tomorrow we’ll show you that this will work.” With that Sherlock shifted them so that they were reclined on the bed with Molly practically on top of him. John wasted no time draping himself over Molly, sandwiching her between the two men. The blonde haired man nuzzled her breasts as he grabbed the detective’s hand. 

 

John peeked up at her and said, “we just want to make sure you’ll be here in the morning.”

 

“Well you two are going to be most annoyed at my 5:30 wake up call.”


End file.
